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^1905 

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The Elopement of Ellen 




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'TT4T7 A TVr A 701VJ^ i -*. Farcical Romance in Thriee Acts. By Arthur 
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A Farce in Four Acts. By 

Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male 

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A Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinkro. 

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A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W. 
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Interiors, not easy 

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The Elopement of Ellen 



A Farce Comedy in Three Acts 



By MARIE J. WARREN 

Author of'' Tonnny's IVife,'" " The Substafue of Jmbition,^' etc. 



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in care of the publishers. 



BOSTON 
WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

1905 



opvfijyni 



^ „ ,The Elopement of Ellen 

CHARACTERS ^ a tlW^^ 

RicuARV FoRTi, a ^evo^et/ yoimg husband. . \^ ^^ 

Molly, ///jt 7£///>. \^ 

Robert Shepard, Molly' s brother. 
Max Ten Eych, a chum of Robert' s. 

Dorothy Makck, engaged to Max — a guest of Mrs. Ford's. 
June Haverhill, Wellesley' 06 — 7vho is doing some special i?i' 
vestigation for economics courses during the siunmer. 
John Hume, Rector of St. Agnes'. 



SYNOPSIS 



Act I. — Morning room at Mrs. Ford's home, at eight a. m. 
Act II. — Corner of Mrs. Ford's garden, at five a. m. the 
next day. 

Act III. — Same corner in the evening of the same day. 

Place. — Pleasant Hill, a suburb of New York City. 
Time. — The summer of 1905. 



COSTUMES, MODERN 




Copyright, 1905, by Marie Josephine Warren. 

All rig Ills reserved 



The Elopement of Ellen 

ACT I 

SCENE. — Morning-room in the home of Mrs. Ford. At l. 
a door opens into the next room ; at r. and c, French win- 
dows, curtained with zvhite muslin^ open on the lawn. A 
breakfast-table, on which is a zvhite cloth, stands at l. front. 
A rocker and small serving table R. Easy wicker chairs, 
cushions, books, a picture or two, give the room a cozy, ijt- 
habited look. 

Enter Molly, a bride of perhaps two months. She wears a 
fluffy morning frock, and carries a tray of silver which she 
arranges on the table with an air of great dejection, sigh- 
ing now and then. After a moment, enter Robert Shepard, 
through French ivimloiv, c. He is dressed for golfing. 
He stops in surprise on seeijig his sister. 

Robert, Hello ! What's up, kid ? Wherefore does my 
usually slothful sister arise at this unearthly hour and surrepti- 
tiously set the breakfast-table ? Don't tell me the peerless Ellen 
has a toothache. 

Molly {turning). Oh, Bob ! Worse than that ! She's 
gone ! 

Rob. (coming doiaii). Gone! Where? 

MoL. {gesticulating dramatically ivith knives ajid forks 
which she holds'). Eloped. Last night. Through the kitchen 
window. With the Burrages' coachman. 

Rob. {laughing heartily). By Jove ! Quite a little ro- 
mance. I didn't think it of Ellen. 

Moi.. {pathetically). Oh, stop, Bob ! It's a regular tragedy. 
Here's Dorothy March, arrived just last night, and you don't 
know how I've boasted to her about my housekeeping. Why 
you know, Bob, a maid has never left me without warning be- 
fore, in all my experience. 

Rob. {sotto voce). Nearly six weeks. Ahem! {To Moi..) 
Well, get a new Ellen, quick. 

3 



4 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

MoL. That's the way you men talk. Rich said the very 
same thing. Just as if it were easy to find a treasure Uke 
Ellen — neat and quiet and attractive 

Rob. Especially to coachmen. 

MoL. I sent Rich right down to the long distance 'phone, 
just as fast as he could run, to telephone to all the employment 
bureaus. He hasn't come back yet. 

Rob. By the way, how did you find out ? 

MoL. Cook came and wakened me to give warning. She 
said — {Putii?ig her hands on her hips and mimicking brogue.) 
''It's not Maggie Rafferty that'll be afther stayin' to do the 
wur-r-rk of two ! " That's why I am setting the table. (Rob. 
walks about, hugely amused.) 

MoL. {is offended). You needn't laugh ! If she goes too, 
you'll have to take Dorothy to New York to luncheon. You know 
I can't cook anything but oysters in the chafing, dish, and this 
is August. 

Enter Richard Ford, at the French window, c. He is 
rather breathless and fans himself with his straw hat. 

Richard. Oh, I say, Molly — there you are. The Employ- 
ment Bureau promised to have a first-class maid out here on 
the next train, so cheer up, little woman ! (Kisses her.) 
Hello, Bob ! I saw you on the links as I dashed past. How 
you can get out and play at such an hour, beats me. 

Rob. If you'd once let me teach you the game you'd be 
doing it yourself. It is a bit lonesome, but if you won't invite 
any but engaged girls down here 

MoL. Qiurt). Now, Bob, you know I offered to have 
Nan Van Hoozen here, and you only groaned. 

Rob. Exactly so. Nan Van Hoozen is a — very estimable 
young woman. 

MoL. That's what you say about every girl I pick out for 
you — and you ought to marry, Bob. 

Rich, {arm around his wife). You bet you ought, old 
man. 

Rob. Not with you two for a warning. No, I thank you ! 
I'll try to worry along until Max Ten Eyck shows up. Then 
I'll have a congenial soul to golf with. 

MoL. You'd better stop counting on Max Ten Eyck right 
now. You needn't think he'll want to play golf with you when 
Dorothy is in the house. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 5 

(^She sails out triumphantly with her empty fray at door, l.) 

Rob. (dejectedly). That's so. I never can remember that 
Max is engaged. He's the last fellow that I'd have thought 

it of. 

Rich, {seatiui^ himself v.. of breakfast table). Try it your- 
self, Bobby, llien you'll stop scofhng at us who know better. 

Rob. Oh, I'm not scoffing -aX you. Molly is a model and I 

don't blame you in the least for being a bit (Raps his 

forehead.) But Max ! 

Rich, [comfortably^. Well, he's gone under. Molly says 
they're a most devoted couple. 

Rob. I don't doubt it. (Laughing.) My only difficulty 
is in imagining Max devoted to one girl for a sufficiently long 
time to reach the engagement stage. Well, Dorothy March 
is 

Enter Dorothy l. She is very fluffy as to frock and hair ; a 
girl who receives admiration as simply and naturally as sun- 
shine. 

Dorothy. What is she ? She'd like to know ! 

Rich, (bowing extravagantly). A half-opened rose. 

Rob. (doing likewise). A beam of morning sunshine. 

Do^. (co7ning down airily). Platitudes! Shame! Neither 
of you exactly scintillated that time. 1 could have thought of 
something more original myself. However — thank you. (As 
MoL. enters with tray of dishes.) Good -morning Molly mine. 

MoL. (setting table as she talks'). Why, Dorothy ! What 
an early bird ! 

Dor. It was such a splendid morning that I had to get up 
early. But what are you doing, dear? Let me help. (Doing 
so.) You don't mean to tell me that the splendid maid you 
wrote me about — Ellen, wasn't it? — is sick ! 

MoL. {signing to the men to keep quiet). Oh — my maid 
is in New York. She is coming out on the next train. But 
Bob has been out on the links and is hungry as a bear, so I 
though!: I'd hurry things a bit. 

Dor. (wandering to window at R.). You're the most 
model housewife, Molly. I can't imagine myself doing such 
things. (Looking out of windozv.) What a dear garden ! 
What roses ! Oh, Molly ! I didn't see all this last night. 

MoL. Don't you want to cut roses for the breakfast-table, 
dear ? 



6 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN • 

Dor. Oh, may 1? \\'hat perfect bliss! I'll get my hat 
and some scissors. \_Exit, door l. 

MoL. You boys go with her and keep her busy for a few 
minutes. The New York train is due, and I don't want her to 
come in while I'm interviewing maids. I've boasted so about 
my luck, she'd never stop making fun of me ! 

Rich, {kissing her). Your commands are law, my dear. 
Don't you worry. You'll have a paragon that will put Ellen 
in the shade. 

E7iter Dor. with wide-brivimed garden hat, scissors in her 
ha?id. 

Dor. I'm all ready. Oh, it's such fun being in the 
country. 

MoL. Cut anything you like, dear. (Rich, holds aside 
curtain of French window, J or her to pass out, then follows. 
Rob. takes paper from serving-table and sits down to read 
at L.) Aren't you going too. Bob? 

Rob. Just a moment. I want to look at the wheat market. 

i^He turns pages for a moment tvhile Mol. gives finisliing 
touches to the breakfast-table. As Mol. goes out, l., he set- 
tles down to read. After a moment June Haverhill en- 
ters at the French window, c. She wears a natty shirt- 
waist suit a?id sailor hat and carries a small bag.) 

June. I suppose I ought to go to a side door or something, 
but I can't seem to find one. {^Sees Rob.) Oh, I beg pardon. 
Is this where Mrs. Ford lives? — Mrs. Richard Ford? 

Rob. {looking around). Eh? what? {Seeing her, springs 
to his feet, dropping the paper.) June Haverhill ! what luck ! 
I didn't know you knew my sister. Come in and I'll call her. 

June {backing off; hor7'ified). Your sister ! Is Mrs. 
Richard Ford your sister ? Heavens, what shall I do ? 

Rob. {surprised). She certainly is — but don't blame Molly. 
She can't help it, you know. 

June {laughing weakly). Oh, dear ! I don't know what to 
do. I'd better go. 

Rob. {stiffly). Not at all — allow me. I'll go at once. 

June. Don't be absurd. Bob. I'll explain — but you must 
promise not to give me away. 

Rob. Sure. Here, sit down. 

June {nervously). She might come. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 7 

Rob. If she does we'll hatch up a fine story. Hurry up — 
I'm consumed with curiosity. 

Tune {seating herself tentatively on the edge of a chair). 
Well, I don't wonder. Of course you think I'm an awful 
idiot. 

Rob. Not exactly. 

June (jiot noticing his remark). You see, I'm majoring in 
economics at Wellesley. I told you how interested I was when 
you came out to college last winter. Don't you remember? 

Rob. By Jove — of course. You were going into Boston to 
inspect orphan asylums. 

June. Yes. Sanitary conditions. Well, this sunmier I 
thought I'd get ahead some in my next year's investigations — 
the servant-girl problem. So I went to an employment bu- 
reau and applied for a position as housemaid and they sent me 
here. I was going to stay one day, if Mrs. Ford would take 
me, and find out ever so much. {Disappointedly.') Now I 
can't. 

Rub. I don't see wliy not. ( Enthusiastically.) Say, come 
on and do it ! I swear I won't give you away. On my honor. 
It would be a great lark. 

June. Oh, I couldn't. Mother would be wild. She doesn't 
know about this, anyhow. I'm supposed to be visiting Clarissa 
Newton in Yonkers ! 

Rob. (^persuasively ; going over to her). My sister is 
bully chaperon. It would be proper as anything, if it ev< 
came out, and such a lark! We can sneak in some golf :iL 
odd hours when the rest are busy. Come on and stay. Please 
do ! (^Enter Mol., l. Rob. and]\3^^ jump apart. Rob. is 
confused.) This — er — young person wished to speak with you. 
I was just going to call you. 

{Exit at French ivindoiv, c, griiining hack encouragingly 
at June who stands detnurely, hands folded, eyes cast 
down. ) 

Mol. {aside). I wonder why she is blushing. It isn't at 
all like Bob to — notice a maid. {To June.) The employment 
bureau sent you. 

June {very de^nure). Yes'm. 

Mol. Are you used to the duties of housemaid? 

June. Yes'm. 

Mol. Have you a good character ? 



8 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

June {surpj-ised ; off her guard for the momenf). Heavens ! 
I hope so ! 

MoL. I mean recommendation from your last place. 

June (aside'). I forgot about that — I must make up some- 
thing. (To MoL.) Well, no'm. You see I — I have always 
lived at the same place, and the family all died. 

MoL. (shocked). Dear me. Of nothing contagious, I hope. 

June. No'm. It was paralysis — that is, heart failure. 

MoL. Oh, I see. How long did you live there? 

June. Eighteen years. 

MoL. (^surprised). You did ! You don't look more than 
that now. 

June. Yes'm. I began quite young. 

MoL. You must have. But you have probably had unu- 
sually good training. I will engage you, and I wish you to 
begin work at once. My maid was forced to leave me rather 
suddenly By the way, are you fond of coachmen ? 

June (surprised). I — I don't think so. 

MoL. (relieved). I am so glad. Well, come with me 
and I'll show you what to do. (Starts towards the door, l.; 
stops, turnirig.) But I forgot to ask your name. 

June. It is — it is Huldah Svenson. 

MoL. You don't look at all Swedish. 

June. Thank you. I mean, yes'm. 

MoL. Jhould you mind very much if I called you Ellen? 
I much prefer to have a maid named Ellen. 

June. No'm. Yes'm. I'll try to remember. 

MoL. Come with me please, then, Ellen. \^Exit, door l. 

June (^glancing towards windoiv). Now is my chance to 
run away. But it would be such a lark to stay. Oh, dear, I 
wish I dared. 

MoL. {outside; calliiig). Ellen! Ellen! 

June (hesitates a moment). Yes'm. \^Exity'L. 

Enter after a moment, at the French ivindozv c, John Hume, 
a blond, rosy young man i?i clerical costume. He stops 
apologetically in the doorway and speaks in a rapid monotone 
7vith sudden Jiitches, like one who repeats an imperfectly 
memorized speech. 

Hume. I beg pardon. I came across through the garden, 
hoping I might be of service. (Relieved tone.) Oh, no one 
here. (Adva?ices.) Now I can be a little more certain of 
what I planned to say. (Seats himself r., and takes small 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN Q 

note-hook from his pocket.) As I become a little more experi- 
enced in calling on the ladies of my parish, I hope that I shall 
lose this — ah — extreme nervousness which makes it impossible 
for me to remember what I intend to say unless I write it down 
and learn it. {Turning over leaves of note- book.') Urn — un) — 
call in case of death in family, call on old lady, call on young 
mother^ call in case of sickness — um — um — ah, here it is. 
{Studies note-book oblivious to everything else.) 

Enter Mol., l.; at first does not see Hume as he sits reading. 

MoL. Well, she seems a trifle stupid and confused but she 
is willing and has an attractive appearance — and it's such a 
relief to get some one. {Sees Hume ; starts with slight 
scream.) Oh ! Mr. Hume ! How you startled me. I didn't 
know any one was here. 

Hume {rising hastily., holding note -book open behind him). 
Exactly. Good-afternoon — that is, morning. I beg pardon. I 
just came across through the service hoping I might be of 
garden. 

Mol, [politely puzzled). So good of you. Won't you sit 
down ? Such a pleasant morning. 

{Seats herself in low rocker, l.) 

Hume {seating himsef uneasily on ed^e of the chair he 
has been occupying, r. He holds the note-book open doiun at 
his side, and glances at it whenever Mol. looks away). As I 
was at my window, quite early — quite early, quite — er 

(Mol. stares at him quite constantly so he cannot refer to 
his book and is consequently lost. His voice trails off 
nervously.) 

Mol. {encouragingly). Yes, it is quite early. 

Hume {glancing at book). Quite early. I saw Mr. Ford 
running rapidly down the street. I feared an accident or bad 
news, so I came across through the — ah — yes. 

MoL. {cordially). That was so considerate, Mr. Hume. 
Thank you. It was nothing at all serious — ^just a litde 
domestic difficulty. 

Hume {aside). Then my speeches of condolence will not 
be ap]:)ropriate. I must find something else. {Turns leaves 
rapidly, keeping book hidden. To Mol.) Exactly. I beg 
pardon. {Reading from book.) And how is the dear little 



10 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

out which lieaven has sent you? (^Stops aghast; aside.) 
Mcicy. She has none. {Again turns leaves^ watching Mol. 
apprehensively. ) 

Mol. The dear little {Aside,^ He must mean 

Dorothy. What an unusual way of asking for her. (^To 
Hume.) She is very well, thank )ou. She is in the garden. 

Hume {dazed). Exactly. I beg — exactly. {Again read- 
ing from hook.) We must bear with patience whatever bur- 
dens it pleases heaven to send us. {Realizes that he is getting 
into deep water, closes book and rises.) It is an unseemly 

hour for a call, but I — I {With a rush ; mechanically.) 

1 came across through the garden hoping I might be of service. 

Mol. {rising also). It was very good of you, Mr. HuniC. 
But 1 wish you'd stay to breakfast with us. I should like to 
have you meet my guest. Miss March. 

Hume (^nei-vously). I am afraid that I shall not be able. 
My duties 

Enter Dor. through French window, c. Her hat is tied on 
coquettishly, and her arms are full of roses. She is laugh- 
ing, and calls back over her shoulder. 

Dor. You are a dreadful sinner, and I'm going to tell your 
wife on you. {To Mol.) Molly, your husband has been pay- 
ing me the most outrageous compliments. He called me 

Hume {ivho has been staring, completely dazzled, forgets 
himself entirely and exclaims). Aurora ! 

{Then nearly dies with mortification.) 

Dor. {seeing him for the first time ; unconcernedly). Yes, 
that was it. Could you hear him ? 

Hume. Exactly. That is 

Mol. Dorothy, this is our new rector, Mr. Hume. Mr. 
Hume, Miss March. 

(Hume bows, opens his mouth several times but says noth- 
ing.) 

Dor. How do you do? Aren't my roses lovely? {To 
MoL. ) Where shall I put them, Molly? 

Mol. {indicating empty vases on serving table and shelf ). 
Those? Perhaps Mr. Hume would like to help you. I have 
asked him to stay to breakfast with us. You will stay, won't 
you, Mr. Hume? 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN It 

Hume {embarrassed but eager ; not taking his eyes from 
Dor.). I should be delighted. 

MoL. That is good. I'll tell Ellen to set another place. 
Dorothy, you will take care of Mr. Hume for me? ^Exit, l. 

Dor. Let's arrange the flowers out under the apple-tree. 
It's so beautiful here in the country that I can't bear to waste 
a moment in the house. You bring the vases. {She goes to 
window, R., and stands waiting for him. He gets vase 
from shcf, picks up his hat, goes to serving- table for vase 
there. Then he lays his hat down, picks up the second vase, 
looks at his hat, sets down one of the vases and picks the hat 
up, looks at second vase, lays down his hat and picks the vase 
up, becoming more confused each moment.') Why don't you 
put it on ? 

Hume. With your permission. 

( Tries to set vase on his head, realizes his mistake, puts on 
his hat. Ticks up both vases, and follows Dor. through 
the ivindow.) 

Enter June in cap and apron carrying a fray on which 
is silver, etc. , for the extra place at table. Begins to set 
table. 

June. This is going to be a perfect lark. And what an 
economics paper I can make out of it ! Heavens, though, if 
mother knew I was setting the table of an unknown bride ! 
What a dear bride she is, though — so important and busy. 
Almost makes one incline towards matrimony one's self. 

Enter Rob., c. 

Rob. Hello, June. What are you doing ? 

June. Setting the table, Mr. Robert, sir. 

Rob. You're going to stay? Bully for you ! Let me help. 
( Takes the tray and holds it, following her around when she 
moves.) Aren't you fetching in that cap ! Do you know what 
it reminds me of? 

June. No — what? 

Rob. The first time I ever met you. You remember. I 
came to Wellesley to the glee club concert with Faith Reming- 
ton. 

June. My sophomore year. 

Rob. And they had you dressed up as a maid. You 
opened the door for me. 



12 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

June. Of course — I remember. And I met you after- 
wards and hated you. 

Rob. {_pers2iasively~). But you don't hate me now, June? 
June {judicially'). Well, not so much. 

{Both laugh.) 

Rob. Say, there are bully golf links just back of the garden. 
Come on and play, early to-morrow morning. It's great at five, 
and none of the family will wake up before seven anyhow. 

June {Jwrrified but delighted). Oh, I couldn't. I plan to 
escape after tea. 

Rob. Just stay over to-night. It would be great. Please. 

June {wavering). It would be a lark. But, Bob, suppose 
your sister should catch us. She'd pack me off without a char- 
acter 1 

Rob. But she won't, if we're foxy. {IVheedlingly .) Please 
say yes. 

Enter Max Ten Eyck with suit-case, c. He stops in sur- 
prise. 

June. Well, I won't promise, but — perhaps. 

Rob. I say. You know you are 

yiA^ {warningly). Ahem! (Rob. «;z^ June j-/^;Y. June 
seizes the tray and runs out, l. , holding it as a screen between 
herself and Max.) Well, Robert, my son, what does this 
mean ? I appear to be butting in. 

Roe. Max Ten Eyck ! Where did you drop from ? 

Max {coining doivn, sets down S7i it-case). I came on the 
eight ten train, and it seemed so good to get a whiff of country 
air, after New York, that I walked up from the station, took a 
short cut and got lost. 

Rob. And here you are at last, eh ? 

Max. And here you are making love to your sister's pretty 
maid — eh ? 

Rob. {embarrassed). Oh, say, just keep still about that. 

Max. Of course I'll keep still — but you surprise me, 
Bobby, really you do. I trust she is pretty. I caught only 
a fleeting glance, but it seemed promising. Is she pretty, 
Bobby? 

Rob. {annoyed). You misunderstand entirely. I wish I 
could explain, but 

Max. Not at all. By no means. Is your sister about, by 
any chance? I know it's beastly early. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN I3 

Rob. Oh, she's about all right, and expecting you on any 
train. I'll call her. {Starts towards the door ; then, remem- 
ber ijig, tur?is back.) By the way. Dorothy March is in the 
garden. 

Max. Thunder! Is she here? How — delightful. 

Rob. (coming back to shake hands'). I haven't seen you 
since you — since it happened. Congratulations. 

Max {mournfully). Thanks, old man. 

Rob. (looks at him curiously ; starts to speak, checks him- 
self, and starts towards door ; then turns back). I say — is 
anything up? You don't look as radiant as Molly led me to 
expect. 

Max. I'm a happy man, Bob, No, hang it all, I'm not. 
I can't lie to you. I'm in a beastly fix. 

Rob. {cordially). I'm glad to hear it — that is — I'm glad 
you're telHng me. Can I help? 

Max {drops mournfully into chai?'). Nobody can. 

Rob. What's up? 

{He pulls chair from breakfast-table and sits astride of it, 
facing Max.) 

Max. Well, you know, Aunt Day 

Rob. The one with several hundred thousand. 

Max. Yes. And I was always her favorite nephew. 

Rob. And you thought 

Max. Exactly. 

Rob. Didn't she? 

Max. Well, yes. That's the rub. She left me twenty-five 
thousand — provisionally. 

Rob. And the provision was 

Max. That I marry Dorothy March. (Rob. ivhistles ; Max 
rises and zvalks about.) That is not the worst of it. She also 
left Dorothy twenty-five thousand with the provision that she 
marry me. 

Rob. {rising energetically). Well, I'll be hangjed ! 

Max. Thanks, old man ! {They shake hands solemnly.) 
Of course I had to give her a chance to refuse. I didn't know 
that she — liked me. 

Rob. And she does ! Holy smoke ! 

{They look at each other helplessly for a moment. Then 
Max ticrns azvay a bit shamefacedly.) 

Max. It was particularly inopportune 



14 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

Rob. You don't mean to say there was another girl ? 

Max. Well, yes, rather. 

Rob. What do you mean ? 

Max. Well, she was such a jolly little thing — awfully 
sensible for a girl — splendid golf player, too. I met her at a 
house-party in the spring. I didn't intend to, but I guess I got 
in rather deep. 

Rob. You proposed to her ? 

Max. I might as well make a clean breast of it to you, old 
man. I did and she turned me down. But I said if she ever 
changed her mind that I should be — well, that I never 
should 

Rob. True till death. (Max nods 7nou7-nfully.^ You are 
in a mess. Jove, who'd have thought you'd turn out such a 
heart-breaker. (^Laughing.') 

Max Qmffily). It's no laughing matter. Suppose that girl 
should change her mind ? 

Rob. Think there's any danger? 

Max. I don't know. I've been living in fear of it for 
weeks. You see I — expressed myself rather strongly. 

Rob. So I should judge. Wonder if I know the girl. 

Max. I don't think so. Her name is Haverhill — June 
Haverhill. 

Rob. (repeats in dismay). June Haverhill ! 

Enter Mol., l., and cojnes forward delightedly on seeing'^ikx. 

Mol. Why, Max ! How splendid. (^Shakes hands. Then 
to Rob.) Bad boy, why didn't you call me? 

Rob. {incoherently'). I don't know. I will, now ! (^Aside.) 
June Haverhill ! Oh, the deuce ! {Dashes out, l.) 

Mol. What did he say? Oh, perhaps he thought I said to 
call Dorothy. Have you seen her. yet. Max ? She is in the 
garden. 

Max. Not yet. Bob told me she was here. 

Mol. H(3w happy she will be to know that you have come. 

Max '{mournfully). Do you really think so? 

Mol. {sympathetically). I know it. And Max — you know 
it isn't very long since Rich and I were engaged, so we under- 
stand everything. We are going to leave you and Dorothy 
alone together just as much as we can. 

Max. Thank you. {Eao^erly.) But don't put yourself 
out ! I wouldn't have you do that for worlds. 

Mol. ■ It won't put me out in the least. It will be perfectly 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN I5 

dear having a pair of lovers in the house. Dorothy is so 
pensive whenever I speak of you. I know that her every 
thought is on your coming. 

(^Just at this moijient Dor, pulls aside the curtai?i of c. 
window and comes in. Her hat is hangi?ig over her arm 
ajid she wears a red rose in her hair. She does not look 
i?ito the room at all, but stands holding the curtain aside 
and talking to some one outside. 

Dor. Be careful! Don't spill the water! Look out for 
the step ! {Enter Hume with a vase of roses in each hand. 
He wears his hat. His face is tvreathed in smiles, and a red 
rose, twin to Dor.'s, adorns his button- hole.') Put one there. 
(^Turning to point to the breakfast-table, sees Max. Her 
smile fades. She heaves a bored little sigh and advatices.) 
Why, how do you do, Max? 

Max. How do you do, Dorothy? 

[They shake hands very conventionally.) 

Dor. I hope you are well. 

Max. Thank you. Very. 

MoL. (aside). The dear things. They are so embarrassed. 
Oh, it's such fun having lovers in the house. (Hume has 
stood perfectly still, just inside the windoiu, holding the vases 
stiffly. His blissful smile has gradually faded into his habitual 
expression of nervous embarrassment. He now gives a little 
cough, and Mol. and Dor. rush toivards him simultaneously, 
each taking a vase. ) The idea ! How very forgetful of me. 

{Sets vase on serving table, l.) 

Dor. What a shame, to make you hold them. 

{Sets vase on breakfast-table, and busies herself rearrang- 
ing roses in it.) 

Hume. I beg pardon. Thank you. 

{Removes his hat with an air of relief ; MOL. puts the hat 
on table, l.) 

MoL. Mr. Hume, "this is Mr. Ten Eyck. Max, Mr. Hume 
is our new rector. 

{They shake hands, eyeing each other askance.) 



l6 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



Enter Rob., l., much worried. 



Rob. (aside). Can't see her alone a second. That cook is 
omnipresent. I must warn her somehow. (^Starts out again.') 

MoL. (^bustling about). Breakfast is all ready. Where are 
you going, Bob ? 

Rob. To find Richard. 

MoL. Oh, he is coming right in. We won't wait for him. 
Win you sit here, Mr. Hume? 

(Seats herself at head of table, L. e?id, piacifig Hume at 
her L.) 

Dor. (seating herself). I choose to sit beside Rich. 

MoL. Of course. Max, will you come here, at my right? 
(7<? Rob., who is again trying to escape.) Where are you 
going, Bob ? 

Rob. To call Ellen. 

MoL. Nonsense. I have my bell. (Strikes it.) Come 
and sit in Rich's place, will you? I can't understand why he 
is so late. 

(Rob. goes slowly to his seat ivatching the door appre- 
hensively. The others are seated as follows : Rob. at 
right end of table, Mol. at left end ; Dor. back of table, 
next to ^ov,., facing audience, Why. the same at Mol.'s 
end ; Hvme front of table at Mol.'s end, back to audience. 
As June enters, Rob. tries to signal to her, but she keeps 
her eyes de?nurely cast down. She carries a tray on which 
is a glass dish of f7'uit which she passes, first to Mol. , 
then Max. Max glances up, and rises hastily from his 
chair, staring at her. June starts, opens her lips to 
speak, closes theni again, and stiffly offers fruit. Max 
sinks back into his chair, still looking fixedly at her, and 
slowly raises his hand to take fruit -as) 



THE CURTAIN FALLS 



ACT II 

SCENE. — A corner of Mrs. Yo^^x^'^ garden at five o'clock in 
the mor fling. Across the back extends the garden wall with 
a gate, c. At R. is a rustic table tvith a chair at each side 
of it ; at \.. is a garden befich, on which lies a bag of golf 
sticks. 

(Rob. is discovered walking np and down. He pauses, 
looks at his watch, and continues walking with the air of 
a man given over to impatience.^ 

Rob. I wonder if June has forgotten that she promised to 
golf with me at five. She wouldn't give rae a chance to speak 
to her yesterday after breakfast — seemed to take delight in 
eluding me. Jove ! how thunderstruck old Max was when he 
saw her. She bluffed it out beautifully, though. Wonder if 
she does care for him. He seemed to think she was just on 
the verge of a violent attachment. He kept out of my way all 
day, too. Don't blame him ! (^Looks at his ivatch.') Nearly 
quarter past five. Hang it all, if June doesn't come in ten 
minutes I'll leave a note for Molly and go down to New York. 
I'm tired of this mysterious atmosphere. No telling what'll 
happen next. 

Enter June, hastily, l. 

June {breathlessly). I ran every step. Have you been 
waiting long? 

Rob. Only a few minutes. Here, sit down and get your 
breath. It's a shame you ran. 

June {sinks into chair at l. of table ; gasps occasionally as 
she speaks). Why, you see, just as I sneaked out of the side 
door, I heard a window open, just over my head. I didn't 
dare to look and see who it was, but I know somebody saw me 
escaping. I ran for dear life. 

Rob. Molly probably thinks her new maid has eloped. 
{Mischievously, yet half seriously.^ Come on. Let's ! 

June {jumping up 7vith alacrity). All right I Let's! {As 
he takes a step towards her eagerly.) As far as the links. 
Further I will not go without gloves. It wouldn't be proper. 

17 



1 8 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN • 

Rob. {prelendin\^- to sulk). And you might prefer a differ- 
ent companion. Max, for instance. 

June {gaily). Why in the world didn't you tell me that he 
was here? I nearly deluged you all with fruit, not to speak of 
the nervous shock ! But didn't I do pretty well ? 

Rob. I didn't know that you knew him until too late to 
warn you. You carried it off beautifully. 

June. Thanks. But I am not at all sure I deceived him. 
He tried to speak to me several times during the day. 

Rob. 'J^he cad ! 

June. Not at all ! You tried to speak to me yourself. 

Rob. I know I did, but tlien {with intent) — / am not en- 
gaged to Dorothy March. 

June {amazed). You don't mean to say that lie is. 

Rob. {watching her narrowly). I should say. Didn't you 
know it ? 

June {smiling reminiscently). Well, he didn't seem to be 

the last time I conversed with him But what about our 

golf? I trust you have some sticks for me to use. 

Rob. {getting bag from beneh). Molly's. W^ouldn't she 
be wild? 

June {rolling up her shir t-ivaist sleeves). Your sister Molly 
is a dear. Truly I'm awfully sorry for playing such a trick on 
her. And I can't bear to run off and leave her maidless with 
all lliese guests on her hands. To-day, though, I must disap- 
pear. 

Rob. Hang it ! Well, come on ! We'll at least have one 
game before you go. {Taking ^^ driver"" from bag.) Here 
you are. 

June {addressing imaginaiy ball and glancing up misclnev- 
ously). I trust you don't mind being beaten by a girl. 

Rob. {gaily). Boaster ! Pride goeth before a fall. 

June. Come, and I'll make my boasting good. 

( 71iey go out through tJie garden gate together. ) 

Enter Hume at r. He looks poetically melancholy, slightly 
disheveled, and ivears a much faded red rose in his button- 
hole. 

Hume {crossing stage, looking off l.). That must be her 
window which I see through the trees. I feel that it is her 
window ! Behind those filmy curtains, she sleeps, my lady 
sleeps, sleeps, sleeps. {Coming dow?i.) /have not been able 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN I9 

to sleep. I wish I had ! I have wandered in the garden nearly 
all night, trying to compose my thoughts for the writing of my 
next sermon. The only text which occurs to me is '*Love one 
another." (^Siiiks into chair by the table.) A clergyman ought 
to marry. It is his duty to his church. Yes, undoubtedly. 
But I should never be able to summon courage to tell her of 
my devotion. She might consider it rather sudden. It is 
rather sudden. {Sighs.) But who could have resisted her 

among the roses? I might write to her. I might say 

{Muses a moment, then drazvs froin his pocket note-book and 
pencil.) I will draft a letter now while the inspiration of the 
morning solitude is upon me. (Writes.) ''My be-loved." 
(I/e pauses 7iow and the?i, lost in thought, then writes with 
satisfied air.) "I am here be-cause I must be near you. I 
cannot stay a-way. You will doubt-less con-sid-er this sud-den, 
but my love has bu-urst into flame. Meet me here this eve- 
ning at ten, if there is any — hope — for — me. I am wholly 
thine." (^Pauses, nibbling his pencil reflectively.') That is 
good. It is convincing. A word more would spoil it. I will 
simply sign my initials. Her heart will tell her whence the 
letter comes. (^Writing.) "J. H." {^Leaves book and pencil 
on table and rises, going towards L.) I will copy and send it 
to-day. How adorably she will conduct the mission sewing 
classes — and the mothers' meetings ! Yes, a clergyman un- 
doubtedly should marry. (Stops suddenly, listening.) Heav- 
ens, I hear steps ! Some one is approaching. It will not do 
for me to be discovered here at this unseemly hour. It might 
be greatly misunderstood — greatly misunderstood. 

(He walks about nervously and goes out, r., Just as Max 

enters, l.) 

Max {somewhat excited). It was June. It must have been 
June. I should know June anywhere. I recognized her step 
on the porch, and herself as she ran across the grass. I fol- 
lowed as soon as possible, but she is nowhere about the grounds. 
What does it all mean ? Why is she masquerading here ? 
^Vhy? Why? (Sinks dotvn on bench, l., clasping his head 
in his hands.) I must speak to her. Suppose she had learned 
of my engagement — had come to claim my promise. Perhaps 
I'd better leave. (Enter Dor. She has a long-stemmed red 
rose in her hand. She stops abncptly on seeing Max and they 
stare at each other for a moment blankly.) G-g-good- morning. 

Dor. Good-morning. I didn't know anybody w^as about. 



20 THE ELOPEMENT OF EI,LEN • 

Max. It is very early — not six yet. 

Dor. I know it, but I couldn't sleep, so I came out of 
doors. The birds wakened me first, I think, and then I kept 
hearing mysterious footsteps in the house and in the garden. 
It seemed as though every one must be up — so I go( up, too. 

Max (inanely). Yes. How nice. So did I. {^After a 
moinenf s embarrassed pause.) Won't you — sit do»vn ? 

Dor. Thank you. 

(Sits on the bench. Max sits beside her. Then Max takes 
her hand ivith the obvious air of doing the correct thing.) 

Max. I am glad you came out. 

Dor. {drawifig away her hand). Don't. 

Max. Why not? We are engaged. 

Dor. (with a bored little sigh). Yes. I suppose so. 

(Gives him her hand uninterestedly.^ 

Max (after a moment). Won't you give me a rose, Dor- 
othy ? 

Dor. No. I'd rather not. 

Max (piqued). Why not? You gave one to that rector 
chap yesterday. How you could stand to have him following 
you about all day, I can't see. He impressed me as being 
utterly inane. 

Dor. (gently withdrawing her hand). At least he did not 
seem bored to death when he had to talk to me. 

Max (rising). What do you mean ? 

Dor. (composedly, smelling her rose). Oh, nothing at all. 
But I don't see how you found time to notice Mr. Hume. 
Every time I saw you, you were engrossed in staring at Molly's 
pretty housemaid — Ellen, isn't it? 

Max {confused). Do you — ah — doubt my love? 

Dor. (easily). Oh, don't be a goose, Max. It's bad enough 
to have to appear devoted when Molly is around. When we 
are alone, do let's be sensible. 

Max (thoroughly surprised). I don't understand. 

Dor. Yes, you do. It's so simple. 

Max. Don't you — do you mean to say you don't — love 
me, Dorothy? 

Dor. {I'ising). It seems to me that this discussion is both 
unpleasant and unnecessary. 

Max (growing a bit angry). I insist upon an answer. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 21 

Dor. (^shruggifig). Well, then — here it is. No. I can't 
bear you. 

Max [amazed). But you said 

Dor. Not at all ! You never asked me before. You asked 
me if I would marry you. That's quite another thing. I had 
to accept, you know, or else make you lose twenty-five thou- 
sand. 

Max (angry). Had to accept ! Why, great scott ! I had 
to ask you ! 

Dor. {fast losing her temper). What do you mean ? 

Max. Just what I say. If I hadn't proposed you would 
have lost twenty-five thousand. You didn't suppose I wanted 
to 

Dor. (almost crying ivith vcxatioji). How dare you say 
such things to me! {Trying to remove her ring.) Here — I 
won't wear it another minute. (^The ring does not come off 
easily. . In order to remove it she lays her rose on the table, 
then tears off the ring and holds it out to Max. ) Take it 
quickly ! 

Max (dropping the ring into his pocket). I shall keep it t^s 
a souvenir of our escape. 

Dor. Oh, I hate you, hate you ! I never want to see or 
hear of you again. 

Max. Thank you for your frankness. May I say that the 
wish is mutual? {He turns away, then comes back.) In 
order that your wish may be granted I shall be obliged to 
trouble you for a moment longer. We shall each have to write 
out a statement refusing the terms of the will. 

Dor. Let me do it at once, then. The more quickly the 
matter is ended the happier I shall be. 

Max. Very well. By all means. (^Feeling in his pockets, 
produces a fountainpen.) Here is a fountain-pen. I am afraid 
that I have no paper. 

Dor. (picking up the note-book left by Hume). Here is a 
note- book with some blank pages. We can use these. 

Max. Anything will do. (Dor. tears several pages from 
the not e-book, seating herself at the table. Max hands her the 
fountain-pen and sits opposite her. She vainly shakes the pen 
which refuses to flow. Max, after watching her efforts for a 
moment sympathetically.) Damn ! • 

Dor. {gratefully). Yes. Thank you. {After another 
fruitless effort.) You haven't a oencil? 



22 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

Max (^feeling in his pockets). I'm afraid not. {Sees pencil 
left by Hume 07i the table.') Yes, here is one. 

(Dor. takes the pencil and writes rapidly, pausing now and 
then to muse. Max, after a moment* s trouble with the 
pe?t, also writes.) 

Dor. {glancing up ; aside). How nice the top of his head 
is. I never noticed that before. Horrid beast ! ( Writes 
again.) 

Max {glancing up ; aside). Jove! She certainly is pretty 
when she loses her temper. Little spitfire ! {Writes again.) 

Dor. [glanci7ig up ; aside). He is so nice and big. His 
shoulders are splendid. 

{Sighs and tv rites again.) 

Max {glancing up ; aside). The sun on that hair is cer- 
tainly pretty. How long her eyelashes are. 

(Sighs and writes again. ) 

Dor. {rising). Finished. 
Max {after a moment rises also). Finished. 
Dor. Ought we to read them ? 
Max. As you like. 

Dor. If it isn't a necessary formality, I guess I'd rather— 
not. 

(Max holds out his hand across the table for the paper. 
She gives it to him and he takes her hand also. She looks 
at him, startled.) 

Max. Dorothy 

Dor. We aren't engaged any more. You mustn't. 
Max. But can't we be very good friends, now that the 
misunderstanding is explained ? Please say yes. 
Dor. {dropping her eyes). Why — yes, Max. 
Max. Thank you. 

[He reluctantly releases her hand and she slowly 7noves 
atvay from the table. Half way across the stage she 
stops, and turns.) 

Dor. {Jiesitatingly). Max — if you don't mind — perhaps 
we'd better not tell Molly we've — decided not to. She'd feel 
dreadfully to have it — happen — here. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 1^ 

Max {eagerly). You are quite right. It is our duty to 
Molly to keep it secret. (Dor. goes sloivly off c, turning to 
glance back at him just as she disappears. Max leaves tiie 
papers on the table and follozvs her a few steps impetuously, 
then stops.) What a blind fool I've been ! She is adorable — 
adorable ! Hang it all, why couldn't I have appreciated my 
luck and not thrown it away. She seemed a little sorry, too. 
Perhaps — well, anyway, I'll try. 

{He goes out c, just as Mol. appears hastily from l. and 
Rich, from r. They meet in c. of the stage.) 

Mol. You haven't found any traces? 

Rich. I trotted all around the garden and didn't see a soul. 

Mol. I heard voices here. I know I did. But when I got 
here, they were gone. Rich, I knoiv Ellen has eloped again — 
I mean my new Ellen. Oh, dear, what shall I do? 

Rich. What makes you so certain, dear? She may have 
only gone for a walk. 

Mol. {dropping down despairingly on the bench). Maids 
don't go walking at five in the morning. And then, there was 
so much rustling and whispering, and talking in the garden. 
The longer I listened the more certain I grew that it was Ellen. 

Rich. And she isn't in the house, you are sure? 

Mol. {disconsolately). Of course I'm sure. When I 
couldn't stand it any longer I got up and looked for her. I 
know she has eloped ! 

Rich. Who could she have eloped with ? 

Mol. Oh, • somebody's gardener — or the milkman. She 
said she wasn't fond of coachmen. (Rich, laughs heartily. 
Mol. on the verge of tears.) I don't see how you can be so 
abominable ! You knoiv that now I shall have to own up to 
Dorothy, and you know she'll make fun of my housekeeping. 
And you can stand there and just laugh. 

Rich, [putting his arm around her). There, dear! Now 
I'm as solemn as a judge. What can I do about it? 

Mol. Please go right down to the long distance telephone 
and call up the Employment Bureau. 

Rich. But dear, suppose she has gone for a walk. Wouldn't 
it be a little awkward ? 

Mol. Rich, if you had so much as looked at her you'd 
have known she was going to elope. She was so attractive. 
Why I even saw Bob and Max trying to speak to her. 

Rich. Then you want an unattractive maid this time? 



24 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

]\IOL. {delightedly). Rich, what a splendid idea ! Over 
forty and plain. 

Rich, {obediejitly). Over forty and ])lain. 
MoL. And you'll run every step of the way ? 
Rich. Every step. 

{Kisses her and starts off on a trot ; exit, R.j 

MoL. {disconsolately). Oh, dear. I don't see why I should 
have such luck. And the lawn party comes to-night. I'll just 
walk around and decide where to have the lanterns hung, while 
1 wait fur Rich. 

{Goes oict L,, as Max e7iters c, very hastily.) 

Max. Heavens ! I forgot those papers ! I hope no one 
lias set-n them. I was sure I saw a white frock through the 
trees. {Finds papers on table.) Here they are. Just my 
nervousness I suppose. {Looking over papers.) This must 
be Dorothy's. {Reading.) ''By refusing to marry Max Ten 

1m ck ' ' Well, if I can't make her change her mind it won't 

be because I haven't tried. {Folds paper aiid puts it i?i his 

pocket.) As for mine ■ {Starts to tear paper, then stops, 

staring at it.) Hello, here's something written on the back ! 
{Comes doivn.) A note — signed J. H. J. H. ! June Haver- 
liill, of course ! What can it be? {Reads with growing sur- 
prise and horror.) " My Beloved. I am here because I must 
hit near you. I cannot stay away. You will doubtless con- 
sider this very sudden but my love has burst into flame. Meet 
me here this evening at ten, if there is any hope for me. I am 
wholly thine. J. H." Good heavens! She has changed her 
mind ! {Sinks weakly into chair.) This is terrible, terrible ! 
That she should have followed me here to claim my promise. 
{Springing iip.) I must get away and think ! Think ! My 
head is splitting ! {Looking at letter .) '' My love has burst into 
flame. I am wholly thine." Horrible ! Horrible ! '' Meet 
me here tliis evening if there is any hope forme." I can't meet 
lier. Hang it, I must meet her ! I must get away and think 
it out I {Rushes out \\.) 

Enter Hume, l., craivling on hands and knees, carefully 
scrutinizing the ground. 

Hume. I must have dropped it somewhere along this path. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 25 

I must find it, for if any one should pick it up, the contents 
might be greatly misunderstood. {^Kneeling upright in conster- 
nation at the thought.) Heavens ! My notes for conversation 
when calHng on a rich and stingy old lady — my letter to Doro- 
thy I {^Resmning his crawling. ) I must find it ! (^He peers 
on and under the bench, then crawls back to the table and peers 
under it and under the chairs. Last of all he glances on top 
of the table and seeing the book, rises, carefully dusting his 
knees.) Thank providence, here it is! (^Fluttering the 
leaves.) My notes for a call in case of death — of accident — 
my letter to Dorothy — my' letter to Dorothy — where is my let- 
ter to Dorothy ! {Anxiovsly turning pages.) Torn out ! 
The page has been torn out. (^He pauses aghast ; his eyes fall 
on the red rose which Dor. left on the table. He takes it up 
and stares at it incredulously.) It is like the one she gave me 
yesterday. I understand ! She has taken my letter and this 
is her reply. (^Kisses the rose rapturously.) She will meet 
me this evening ! I must compose some suitable remarks for 
the occasion. Yes, I will do it at once. {Starts out r. carry- 
ing rose and note-book; stops a7id turns to say rapturously.) 
How adorably she will conduct the mission sewing classes — 
and the mothers' meetings ! \Exit, r. 

Enter through garden gate, c, Rob. ^;2^ June. 

June (^jubilantly'). I told you I'd beat you ! You can't say 
that you weren't fairly warned. 

Rob. {jvith a large air). Oh, of course ! I let you beat me 
because you're company and a girl. 

June (with mock severity). I can't endure a person who 
won't own up to being beaten. 

Rob. Please can't you endure me? I'll own up to any- 
thing you say. 

June. Neither can I endure a person that cringes. 

Rob. Then I won't. (Severely.) You're cross. Sit down 
and get cool a minute before you go in. 

June. A command ? 

Rob. a humble request. 

June {sits l. of table). Have I really time ? 

Rob. (Jooki7ig at his watcJi). Sure. It's only half-past six. 
Nobody is thinking of waking up yet. {He sits 07i the table, 
back half towards audience, lookifig down at her. After a mo- 
me7it' s pause.) Must you honestly go to-day? 



26 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

June. 1 honestly must. 

Rob. I hate to have you. I've been restless and discon- 
tented for so long — ever since I saw you last — and I've wanted 
something dreadfully and not dared to own up what. But I 
know now — I have to own up. It was you. 

June. It's been awfully jolly. 

{She is 7'ollmg doivn her shirt-waist sleeves, bending her 
head over the task. 

Rob. I wish we could have one more game. 

June. Imagine mother's horror if this prank ever leaked 
out. And I'm afraid Max Ten Eyck does recognize me. So 
to-day your sister's new maid will mysteriously disappear. 

{She is struggliiig to fasten her cuff-links.) 

Rob. Let me do it. 

June {holds her hands out to him. Hefastejis the cuffs and 
keeps the hands priso7ier, looking dow?i at her. She 7neets his 
eyes squarely for a moment, then turns away'). Don't spoil 
it all by being a goose, Bobby. It's taking advantage. 

Rob. {still keeping her hands in his). Well, some time 
when you are properly chaperoned, may I? 

June {softly). Perhaps. 

Rob. {releases her hatids ajid straightens up). Thank you. 

{There is a short pause. Then June rises.) 

June. I must go back to the house, now. 

Rob. {also rising). I suppose you must. Shall I see you 
again ? 

June. If you do you mustn't speak to me. I'll be Ellen, 
then, you know. 

Rob. {holdiiig out his hand). Then au re voir, June. 

(June gives him her hand. As she does so Mol. appears at 
L., Rich, at r. Both sta7id frozen with asto?iishment.) 

June. Au revoir. 

Rob. It's confoundedly hard to be good. 

June. But you must ! Au revoir, Bobby. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



27 



{They turn away from each other, simultaneously catching 
sight of Rich, and Mol. At the same mome7it Dor. ap- 
pears c. , Max l. and Hume r. June and^o^. stand back 
to back, staring in horrified silence. Hume clears his 
throat and advances nervously towards them.) 

Hume {tnechanically). I just came across through the gar- 
den hoping I might be of service. 



CURTAIN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — The same corner of the garden about ten o'clock in 
the evening of the same day. A string of Japanese lanterns 
extends from the wall to a large tree at l. These furnish 
the only light. The table at R. is covered by a dainty cloth 
and bears a punch-bowl of lemonade and glasses. Gay 
cushions are on bench and chairs. Music is heard off 7iow 
and then duri^ig the act. 

(Rich, is discovered sitting on the bench, l. Mol. is lad- 
ling out a glass of lemo7iade. ) 

Rich. This is pretty fine. It's worth the whole day of 
stringing lanterns and moving furniture to have a cozy minute 
with you here. 

yioi.. {taking him lemonade). Hush! Aren't you ashamed ! 
Cosy corners were not constructed for old married people like 
us. They're for the young and frivolous. 

Rich, {drawing her down on the bench beside hi7?i). Well, 
come and sit beside me, old married person, while I enjoy my 
hard-earned lemonade. I've been discussing fashions with the 
oldest Miss Patterson — the deaf one. 

Mol. You poor dear! {Laughing.) Wish I could have 
heard your efforts to appear intelligent ! 

Rich, {seriously). Gussets are coming in. The favorite 
materials this -season are to be polka-dotted pannel velvet 
and 

Mol. Don't be stupid, Rich ! You know better, and if you 
don't I'll take you shopping with me and teach you. 

Rich, {fervently). Heaven forefend ! 

Mol. {rises and goes about straightening lanterns, patting 
cushions, etc.). Doesn't everything look pretty? Every- 
thing is quite perfect except Max's being called away. I 
know Dorothy is disappointed, though of course she wouldn't 
say a word. 

Rich. Yes, I've been a bit bothered about Max. I am 
afraid that it must have been pretty serious news to make him 
rush off that way before breakfast. 
28 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 29 

MoL. I don't believe he even found out about my wonder- 
ful maid's turning into Miss Haverhill. Isn't she a dear? 

Rich. Pretty jolly little girl. The way she stuck it out and 
made you listen to her explanation and apology was all right. 
It takes nerve to face you when you're dignified, Molly ! 

MoL. {ineaningly'). Thanks ! I shall remember ! And 
Rich, you think it was all right for me to insist on her staying 
over to-night as our guest, don't you ? I felt as though I must 
keep her and make up for having let her clean silver and make 
salad-dressing yesterday ! 

Rich. Sure. Just the thing. She has helped a lot to-day, 
too. 

MoL. So has Dorothy. They've been perfectly dear, both 
of them. They would do it ! 

Rich. They've had a good time over it. You should have 
seen them bossing Bob ! I never saw him work before ! 

MoL, {clasping her hands, delightedly). Rich ! Do you 
think Bob likes her ? This is the first time I've ever seen him 
take any interest ! 

Rich, (rising and going over to he?^). You litde match- 
maker ! 

MoL. {delightedly). You think so too ! I know you do ! 
Let's go and see what they are doing. 

Rich, {tucking her hand tinder his ami). I believe you are 
planning to be matron of honor, already ! 

{They go out together, l. Immediately, Max enters at the 
gate, c. He looks tired and is not in evening dress.) 

Max. I thought they would never go ! If anybody had 
seen me skulking in the dark outside the gate, I shouldn't have 
blamed them for having me arrested for a suspicious character. 
{Sits on bench, l.) But I couldn't face those dear people. 
They would have asked me why I bolted. A pretty excuse to 
put up that I've been wandering around New York all day in 
the heat, trying to make up my mind to do the square thing 
and keep my word to June ! If I only hadn't found out that 
I was in love with Dorothy it wouldn't have been so bad. But 
who'd have thought that June would change her mind ! 
{Looks at his watch.) Nearly time for the interview ! Brace 
up, old man ! (Rising, squares his shoulders determinedly.) 
You've got to go through with it. {Looks off l.) Heavens ! 
Here she comes now, with Rich ! I can't let him see me. 
{Steps back through the gate.) 



30 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



Enter June and Rich., l. 



June. I am especially proud of this corner, for it was all 
my idea. Don't you think it pretty, Mr. Ford ? 

Rich. It effects me like a magnet. I keep coming back to 
it. Was the lemonade your idea, too ? 

June. I'll have to own up that Mrs. Ford supphed that. 

Rich. Let me give you some. 

June. No, thank you. I should freeze. It's so much 
colder, out here away from the house. 

Rich. You ought to have a wrap. Let me get one for 
you. 

June. Thank you, perhaps I ought to have one. There is 
a little silk shawl hanging on the veranda railing that is mine. 

Rich. I'll find it. Won't be a minute. 

(June seats herself by the table. As Rich, goes out l., 
Max e7iters c.) 

Max {iiervous but determined'). I beg pardon. 

June \tiirning). Why Max Ten Eyck, when did you come 
back? Mr. Ford was just speaking of you. 

Max. I haven't seen any of the people yet. I wanted to 
talk with you first. 

June ( puzzled by his manner). To me? Of course, if you 
like. Sit down. 

Max. I'd rather stand, thank you. [Takes a turn across 
the stage, comes back and faces June.) I recognized you at 
once yesterday morning, but it was very stupid of me to 
show it. 

June {laughing). I don't see how you could have helped 
showing it ! What must you have thought of me ? 

Max {sole77inly). I understood why you were here. 

June. You did ! Well, I think you were very clever to 
guess. Bob knew, of course, but I had to tell him. 

Max {horrified). You explained the purpose of your com- 
ing to Bob ! 

June. Oh, yes, I had to ! You see, we were such old 
friends that I couldn't avoid it. He promised to help me. 

Max {aside). He might have warned me. I didn't think 
this of Bob. 

June {going on, placidly). He thought it was a great lark. 
(Max drops on bench, aghast.) Don't look so disapproving ! 
Mrs. Ford knows all about it now and she doesn't, mind a bit. 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



31 



She was ever so dear about it — made me stay over as her guest 
for this evening. 

Max {aside). For this interview of course. {To June.) 
Does — ah — Miss March — also understand the situation ? 

June. Yes, indeed. We are getting to be great friends. 

Max {aside). Dorothy, too ! What must she think of me ! 

June. But here I am, monopohzing the conversation, and 
there was something you wanted to talk with me about. What 
was it? 

Max {rising). I merely wished to say — that — that I stand 
by what I said. I am yours to command. 

June {also rising; surprised). Stand by what you said ? 
What can you mean ! 

Max. I wish to live up to the promise I made — you know 
— the last time I saw you. 

June. The promise — why I don't recall any promise. 

Max {quite agonized ; mopping his forehead). That I 
would never — care for — any one else. 

June {7viih dignity). Mr. Ten Eyck, you seem to forget 
your engagement to Miss March, /do not. 

Max {mournfully). It is broken off. Quite broken off, 

June. Impossible ! 

Max. Here are the proofs. We each wrote out statements. 
Here is mine. (Produces folded paper from his pocket.) 
Please read it. 

June {glancing at paper). '^My beloved. I am here be- 
cause I must be near you." Mr. Ten Eyck, I fail to see why 
you should ask me to read your love letters ? 

Max {distressed). Forgive me. The statement is on the 
other side. I had forgotten that your note was on the same 
paper. 

June. My note ! What do you mean? 

Max. Why, yes. The note you left for me. 
_]\5^^ {ao;ain glancing at paper). '^ Wholly thine. J. H." 
Mr. Ten Eyck ! You don't mean to say that you thought me 
guilty of this ! 

Max. Of course. Didn't you write it ? 

June {disgusted). I never saw it before ! {There is a 
pause during ivhich they stare blankly at each other. Suddenly 
June bursts into a gay peal of laughter.) Oh, oh, oh ! I 
see ! You thought I had changed my mind about accepting 
you ! 

Max. And you haven't ! 



32 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

June. Of course not ! Oh, how absurd ! 

Max {Joyfully'). June, you angel ! I'm so glad ! I mean, 
of course, I'm so sorry ! No, I don't either. Please forgive 
me for being such an idiot. 

June. Of course. Why it's as clear as day. My peculiar 
actions — and then the note ! Who could have written that 
note ! 

Max. It is intended for a joke, I suppose 1 

June. It couldn't have been Bob ! 

Max. Of course ! He was the only person who could have 
done it ! The scamp ! 

June. It was perfectly abominable ! 

Max. I'll wring his neck ! 

June. I'll never forgive him ! The idea of his daring ! 

Enter Rob. hastily, with shawl over his arm. 

Rob. I say, June, I made Rich let me bring this. It 
wasn't on the veranda but it must be yours. {Seeing Max ; 
surprised.) Why, hello. Max ! 

June {to Max, utterly igjtori?ig Rob.). Please take me back 
to the house. It's a little cool here 1 

Max. Certainly. With pleasu-re, 

(June and Max go off, l., without noticing "Kob., who stands 
frozen with astonisJunent. The shawl slips to the ground.) 

Rob. Now, what in thunder ! 

Enter Hume, r, 

Hume {with his ordinary nervousness). It is a beautiful 
evening. 

Rob. Hang the evening ! {Rushes off, l.) 
Hume {complacetitly). It is a beautiful evening. It is 
nearly ten o'clock and soon she will come. If only I were not 
so nervous I I know I shall forget what I intended to say. 
{Seats himself, produces note-book and finds place.) This 
should be effective, if I do not become confused. I might re- 
hearse a few sentences. No one is about. {Rises and goes to- 
wards L. ; speaks as though addressing some one.) ''At last 
you have come. Each moment seemed an age ! " {Suiting 
action to the word; with imaginary perso7i!) ''Ah, won't 

you sit down " Did that come next? {Referring to 

7iote-book.) Yes. I lead her to a chair — this chair. Then I 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



33 



kneel beside her. (^Kneels just in- front of shaivl which Rob. 
dropped.^ 



Efiter Dor. hastily, l., callin 



Dor. Bob ! Why did you run off with Mrs. Carter's 
wrap ? (^Sees Hume kneeling beside shawl and holds out her 
hand for 4t.) Yes. That is the one. Thank you. 

(Hume meekly hands her the shawl and she is about to 
hurry away but he catches her dress, still kneeling.^ 

Hume. Stay a moment ! I have so much to say to you. 
Do stay ! 

Dor. {seating herself). I oughtn't to stay but a minute or 
two, Mr. Hume. Bob rushed off with Mrs. Carter's shawl 
and I promised to find it for her. 

Hume (rising). Exactly. {In precisely the same tone as 
when rehearsing.^ "At last you have come. Each moment 
seemed an age." 

Dor. {puzzled). What? 

Hume {inore embarrassed). '■ ' Each moment seemed an age. ' ' 

Dor. {amused). Oh, I see. Thank you. {Aside.) 
What a compliment ! 

Hume {still in same tone, and ivith same gesture towards 
imagifiary person). " Oh, won't you sit down? " {Stops ab- 
ruptly, confused.) 

Dor. Why I am sitting down ! 

Hume. Yes, you are sitting down. We can pass over that. 
{Referring to ?iote-book.) Now 1 kneel. {Does so.) 

Dor. {rising; distressed). Oh, please get up, Mr. Hume ! 
Somebody might see you 1 

Hume. What difference 1 It will soon be known. 

Dor. What will soon be known ? 

Hume {rising). That you have promised to be mine. 

Dor. Oh, no indeed ! That will never be known. 

Hume. Why not? "The red, red rose of love has — 
has " 

{Hunting for place in note-book.) 

Dor. I'm sorry, but I'm perfectly certain that Mrs. Carter 
wants her shawl. {Starts to go.) 

Hume {desperately). But the red, red rose of love? Your 
answer to my note ? 



^4 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

Dor. I don't know what you are talking about. I haven't 
received any note from you, Mr. Hume. 

Hume. This morning in the garden. You were in the 
garden this morning. 

Dor. Why yes, but — 

Hume {triumphafitly) . I knew that you were. And the 
note — the rose — they were there too ! 

Enter Max, l. 

Dor. (Jiastenifig to Max). Max, what does he mean by the 
note and the rose? He is so strange, I'm half afraid of him. 

Max. What's that ? A note ? 

Dor. In the garden this morning. 

Max. Jove ! That explains it ! (^Advajicmg to Hume.) 
''My beloved, I am here." 

Hume. Sir ! I — I beg pardon, but what right have you to 
peruse my private correspondence ? 

Max. I apologize ! I thought I was perusing my own pri- 
vate correspondence. {Taking the note from his pocket.') 
Here, Dorothy ! This must be yours. 

Dor. {gla?ici7ig at note). Mr. Hume, I am terribly sorry, 
but I guess I'd better not read it. You see I am — engaged. 

j\Iax {promptly). Yes. She is engaged to me. We are 
engaged to each other. 

Hume. Good heavens ! Engaged 1 I beg pardon 1 I was 
not aware 

Max {complacently). Don't mention it, Mr. Hume I We 
don't mind in the least ! 

Dor. {sweetly, holding out her hand). And thank you so 
much, Mr. Hume ! (Hume takes her hand, opens his mouth 
several times without saying anything, then drops her hand and 
rushes out, c. DoR. turns to Max.) You needn't have — said 
that. I just thought it was the kindest way to tell him. 

Max. I didn't mind doing it in the least. I rather en- 
joyed it. 

Dor. But how did you come by the note ? 

Max. Found it in the garden this morning. 

Dor. I don't want to read it. 



{Tears the paper across.) 
Dorothy ! Do you k 

Dor. No. Why, what do you mean? 



Max {eagerly). Dorothy ! Do you know what you have 
torn ? 



THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 



35 



Max. Look on the other side. 

Dor. {turns paper over, holding the torn fragments to- 
gether'). '^I hereby declare that I refuse to fulfil the condi- 
tions of the will left by Mrs. Cordelia Day, in so far as they 
pertain to my marriage with Dorothy March." Oh, Max! 
I'm so sorry I tore it ! 

Max. /'m so glad I {Taking other paper from his pocket.) 
Won't you tear this too? {As Dor. turns away.) I was an 
awful fool, Dorothy, but I've learned better. Couldn't you 
give me another chance ? 

Dor. You're saying this because you think you ought to ! 

Max. Hang it all, dear, don't rub it in ! I know I deserve 
it, but I'm desperately sorry — and I love you. Let's make it 
true — what we said to the rector-chap. 

Dor. (softly). That we're engaged ? 

(She takes the paper from him, and slowly tears it across.) 

Max. Dorothy ! (He takes an impulsive step towards her, 
Just as Rob. enters, l. ) Damn ! 
Rob. (backing). I beg pardon ! 
Max. Certainly ! Don't mind us in the least. We are 



(Puts his arm around Dor., and leads her off, r.) 

Rob. (looking after them). Lucky beggar ! Now what do 
you suppose /'ve done. I tried twice to speak to June, and 
she simply doesn't see me. Confound it all ! And she is going 
to-morrow ! 

(Sits in chair beside table, elbows on knees, head in his hands.) 

Enter June, slowly and softly. 

June. I was just too abominable for words to Bob. And I 
don't believe he could have done it. I can't stand it not to 
apologize. (Calls softly.) Bob! 

Rob. (springs up). June ! Why, June 1 

June. People are going — the party is 'most over. And I 
shall go early to-morrow. And I couldn't bear to go away 
cross after we have had such a lark. I'm sorry. {Shyly hold- 
ing out her ha?id.) 

Rob. (taking it joyfully). On my honor, June, I can't 
think of anything I've done to displease you, but if there was 
something, I apologize. 



36 THE ELOPEMENT OF ELLEN 

June. If your conscience is clear I don't believe you did it. 
{Trying to withdraw her hand.) I must go back to the house, 
Bob. People are saying good-night. 

Rob. But there is something I want to ask you first. What 
do you think of Molly as a chaperon ? 

June. Your sister? She is absolute perfection. I'm des- 
perately in love with her. 

Rob. Then you consider her quite adequate in that position ? 

June. Why, of course ! How can you be so stupid ! 

Rob. Do you remember what you said this morning — that 
I might say — and do — when you were properly chaperoned ? 

June (consciously'). Oh ! 

Rob. {Joyfully). You do remember ! Then it holds good ! 
I'm going to — dear ! 

June {turning, gives him both hands). You may, Bobby ! 

(Rob. bends forward and kisses her. ) 

Enter simultaneously Rich, and Mol., l., and Dor. and 
Max, r. 

Rob. Oh, I say. Rich ! You're just the man I want to 
see ! Run down to the long distance 'phone, for me, will you ? 

Rich. What on earth for ? 

Rob. To get Molly a new maid ! This one is going to 
elope — with me. 



CURTAIN 



THE MAGISTRATE^ 



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PiNERO. Twelve male, four female char- 
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interior. The merits of this excellent and amusing piece, one of the most popu- 
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is uproariously funny, and at the same time unexceptionable in tone. Its entire 
suitability for amateur performance has been shown by hundreds of such pro- 
ductions from manuscript during the past three years. Plays two hours and 
a half. (1892.) 



THE NOTORIOUS 
MRS* EBBSMITH. 



A Drama in Four Acts. By Arthtjb "W. 
PiNERO. Eight male and five female charac- 
ters; scenery, all interiors. This is a "prob- 
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THE PROFLIGATE* 



A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur "W. Pikb- 
RO. Seven male and five female characters. 
' Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate ; 
costumes, modern. This is a piece of serious interest, powerfully dramatic in 
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THE SCHOOLMISTRESS* [ 



A Farce In Three Acts. By Arthttb 
W. PiNERO. Nine male, seven fe- 
male characters. Costumes, mod- 
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farce was played by Miss Bosina Vokes during her last season in America with 
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is in all respects suitable for amateurs. (1^.) 



THE SECOND 
MRS*TANQUERAY*, 



A Play in Four Acts. By Arthttb "W. 
PnfKRO. Eight male and five female char- 
acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three 
interiors. This well-known and powerful 
play .is not well suited for amateur per- 
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answer to the demand which its wide discussion as an acted play has created. 
(1894.) Also in Cloth, $1.00. 



SWEET LAVENDER* 



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comedy interest abundant and strong. (1893.) 

THE TIMES f -A. Comedy in Four Acts. By ArthttrTV. Ptnt^ro. SN 
^ ■'•■"^ * ■"■*" ^^» I male and seven female characters. Scene, a single ele- 
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« THE WEAKER. SEX. I * 






Comedy in Three Acta. Bv APTHrB 
PiNERO. Eight male and eight female 
characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, 
two interiors, not dilPcult. This very amusing comedy was a popular feature of 
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ts leading characters are unusually even in strength and prominence, which 
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iBmISLHPNgress 






/is 

/IS 



- - - • 

The Plays of Henrik Ibsen. 

Edited, with Critf cal and Bbgtaphical Inttodtictfiocv 
by EDMUND GOSSE. 

This series is offered to meet s growing demand for the plays of this vell- 
at>u»ed and hotly-discussed writer « whose influence over the contemporary drama 
is enormous even if his vogue In the American theatre be still regrettably 
small. These plays are intended for the reading public, but are recommended 
for the use of literary societies and reading clubs, and somewhat diffidently 
suggested to dramatic clubs, as providing unconventional but vigorously acta- 
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A Plat nf Fottb Acts. 

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THE LADY FROM THE SEA, | ^S;^S^i?c 



AN ENEMY OF SOdETY . 



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